


I May Not Be Your Cup of Tea (But I'm Your Tenth Shot of Tequila)

by gimmefire



Series: Your Tenth Shot of Tequila [1]
Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF
Genre: Banter, Drunkenness, Flirting, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:49:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gimmefire/pseuds/gimmefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Friendly advice: don't get involved with a rider.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this escalated quickly. Set sometime in 2012, just to be vague. Title poached from [a Tumblr post](http://drarna.tumblr.com/post/52461175810/i-may-not-be-your-cup-of-tea-but-im-your-10th) (this is the age we live in). Unbetad.

_"Don't get involved with a rider."_

_"Involved?"_

_"Don't sleep with any of 'em."_

_"That's not gonna be a problem."_

_"All the same, friendly advice: don't get involved with a rider."_

Matt was told that years ago when he was first getting into this bike business. Friendly advice indeed; pretty strange advice as well, in amongst the tidbits about where not to stay, who were the soundest blokes and which bars were best for getting legless in. He never asked why, or whether every newbie heard the same unusual recommendation (did he have a face that said 'I'm going to be entirely unprofessional and bed-hop my way through the grid, thanks very much'?). Most of the advice still rang true today, but things have changed since then - he has a microphone in his hand and a camera in his face every race weekend now, and sometimes on the other end of that microphone is a rider quite unlike any he's met before. Which is something, because riders are an eclectic, mad bunch as it is...

\------------

Cal Crutchlow can't hold his drink. He's also obnoxious, taunting, arrogant and comically afraid of creepy crawlies for someone who is also all of the above, but the main point of focus tonight is that he can't hold his drink.

They, and several other members of the paddock, are in one of those aforementioned bars-good-for-getting-legless-in, currently in the process of getting legless - all of them except Cal. One beer! Really, _one_ beer?! And he had to be cajoled into having that... Cal has been nursing soft drinks all night and Matt has thrown caution (and money) to the wind and moved onto shots, thanks to the bad influence of his colleagues. He's rather the worse for wear but he can still make out the amusement dancing in Cal's eyes when he approaches.

"Look, just because you're shit at drinking doesn't mean you can stand there laughing at me," Matt declares indignantly, deliberately bumping Cal's shoulder as he settles against the wall beside him. "...I'm gonna get you another half."

"Waste your money if you like, Matt, I'm not fucking drinking it."

Matt sighs as though it's a great inconvenience to him, then pauses to reflect. "That's probably a good idea cos I was gonna get them to top it up with a triple vodka."

Cal's eyebrows lift. "You were gonna _spike my drink_?"

"Noooo," Matt assures with an overenthusiastic shake of the head, then goes quiet for a moment. "...Probably not."

"It's fine, do it," Cal retorts, prodding Matt in the chest. "I'll just come to your room in the morning and puke in your suitcase. And your bed. And your face."

Matt's face screws up in disgust. "I bet," he mutters.

This is how it goes between them most days. Banter back and forth on the grid, more vulgar banter away from the cameras. Cal usually finds something to say about his clothes or general appearance. Speaking of which...

"How much of your BBC money do you piss away on booze, and how much do you piss away on stuff for your hair? It's gotta be about fifty-fifty, no?" Cal asks, and reaches up with the obvious intent of ruining Matt's carefully sculpted quiff. Wise to it, Matt swats his hand away, leaning back sharply and banging his head fairly hard on the wall behind him in the process. Cal cackles at his obvious pain and is somehow able to ask if he's alright without sounding at all concerned. Matt runs his fingertips through the closely-cropped hair at the back of his head and inspects them for blood, much to Cal's further amusement.

"Thanks for that concussion-- _ah_!" Matt almost loses his balance when Cal's hand claps the back of his head and rubs the same spot on his already bruised scalp with gusto.

"There's not even anything there, don't be such a baby," Cal scolds, dragging his hand right through Matt's hair. Matt thinks to himself that he probably should have seen that coming as he lifts his head and ruefully prods at what's left of his likely unsalvageable quiff. Cal's looking at his fingers, flexing them in mild revulsion at the feel of styling product all over them, and Matt aims a hazy glare his way.

"Christ, you must be a nightmare to live with..." he mutters.

Cal grins, a sly, devilish curl in his lips revealing the teeth behind them. He brings his glass up to his mouth, shooting Matt a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, but I'm a great fuck."

Matt just sputters a laugh as he tries in vain to arrange his quiff back into its previous shape. _I bet_ , he thinks. For some reason.

The remainder of the night passes in a bit of a blur for Matt, mainly because he resumes drinking once he's decided he hasn't been concussed. All he really remembers of it, once he and a few of the BBC boys are about to pile into a taxi back to the hotel, is extolling the virtues of Huddersfield Town on someone who couldn't speak a lot of English...and Cal's wicked grin.

"It's not the only reason I don't drink," Cal informs him before he leaves. "Being ill and that. It's the main one, but not the only one."

"Oh yeah?" Matt vaguely recalls a conversation about this earlier. Or at least a mention of it. Or something.

"I like being able to remember stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Stuff," Cal repeats, refusing to elaborate beyond a smile. "I like the memories."

Matt looks at him for a bit, finding it hard to decipher the look on Cal's face, what with his vision swimming. If he was more with it he'd given more than a passing thought to how many memories he'd retain from tonight. Instead, he snorts. "I think that's the softest thing you've ever said to me."

Cal just shrugs and smiles that smile.

\-----------

Matt notices an increase in banter after that night. He's genuinely pleased to have built up this kind of rapport with a rider, especially Cal; one day he'll make a point of thanking him for being great to work with. Maybe he'll catch him on one of those rare drunken nights and tell him then, so he might forget and thus not get big-headed and unbearable about it.

"Quiff's looking a bit tired today, Matt. Looks like it's having a little lie down," Cal observes when he finds him exiting the media centre at the next race weekend. He makes an angled gesture across his own head, presumably in an approximation of the angle of Matt's hair, then laughs at his own joke. Matt gives him a withering look.

"Cal, I could ring you up tomorrow morning and give you tips on how to bag on me, and you still wouldn't be able to think of a half-decent insult," he responds coolly. He's a little surprised that the topic of choice wasn't his drunkenness in that bar last time out...

"Oh yeah?" Cal cants his head to one side and looks at Matt intently for long enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable.

"See, you can't even think of one now!" he exclaims, trying to deflect the attention. Still Cal stares at him, and he begins to hope he isn't going red. "Or are you just eying me up?"

Cal looks at Matt like he's a complete idiot, then allows his gaze to track languidly all over Matt's body. "Fuckin' hell, took you long enough..."

Matt lets out a nervous laugh and looks away, suddenly hoping that nobody is eavesdropping on this conversation. It feels more than a little different to any they've had before. His gaze is pulled back by the sound of Cal's trainers scuffing the ground as he moves closer, and to his immeasurable surprise, Cal leans in and kisses him. Not a bruising thud of a kiss on the cheek, all overenthusiasm and messing about, not a swift peck followed by a cackle. Cal kisses his lips and _means_ it.

Matt jerks away in shock, heart thudding against his ribcage. " _What'reyoudoing?_ " The words come out all at once, all one startled, strung together pile-up of letters.

Cal doesn't reply. He just regards Matt in a way that suggests he's recalculating and, much to Matt's utter bewilderment, he turns and walks away without a single word. Matt stares after him, mustering only a strained and exasperated " _Cal!_ " and nothing more.

 

He doesn't see Cal again until the next day, but he collars him the very moment he does - almost literally, grasping his sleeve to bring him to a halt between the motorhomes.

"What was that yesterday?"

Cal looks genuinely nonplussed, frown creasing his brow. "What about yesterday?"

"What about yesterday!" Matt echoes in disbelief. "How many other presenters did you kiss?"

Cal looks at him, studies him. "Did you enjoy it?," he asks eventually, amusement dancing just on the edges of his voice. When Matt doesn't answer beyond his eyebrows lifting a few millimeters, a smirk begins to pull at Cal's lips before fading away.

"Misread signals," Cal says shortly, and as seriously as he ever seems to get around Matt. "Won't happen again."

"What signals?"

"You know," Cal looks him up and down more suggestively than he's ever been looked up and down before. "Signals."

Matt struggles to form words for a moment, looking down at himself. "Are you having a pop at how I dress again?"

"Signals like you've been wanting me to do that for ages."

Matt feels the hairs on his arms rise at Cal's words, and he poorly stifles a shiver. The profound physical reaction only makes Cal's smirk grow. The younger man glances down at the fingers still curled into his shirt sleeve and back up, looking Matt dead in the eye. He radiates confidence in every move he makes.

"Can I go, or did you wanna pick up where we left off...?"

Not only can Matt not form words at this point, he also can't make himself move. He splutters and looks indignant and puts on a good front, but he isn't moving. And he can feel he's blushing.

Cal moves closer, thrillingly closer, close enough for Matt to feel breath on his lips, and still he doesn't move. It's not until Cal's mouth brushes his and the sensation of it makes his heartbeat stumble that Matt finally untangles his brain and uncurls his hand, shrinking back from the other man, a bewildered frown creasing his brow. Cal's smirk fades, but he says nothing. Matt backs away, trying not to trip over anything as he goes, and leaves even more confused than before.

_Signals._ That's the word Cal used. Signals. Like he'd had it written on his shirt or paid for a sky writer or something. Was that what all that increased friendliness had been about? Well, Cal's version of friendliness, anyway. All that banter and insults and messing around. That grin. That wicked grin...

It's come from so far out of left field that Matt is suddenly doubting his own perception of things. It _bothers_ him.

It bothers him while he's waiting to do a piece to camera. It bothers him while he's checking stats about the forthcoming race. It bothers him on the way back to the hotel and it bothers him while he's getting ready for bed. He doesn't lose sleep over it, but the last thing he sees in his head before he drifts off is Cal's smirking face. _Like you've been wanting me to do that for ages_...

\----------

Maybe there's something to this "no drinking" malarky. Not so much for Matt - he's relatively sober this time, just a bit merry - but his colleagues have snatched his hotel key and thrown it on top of a nearby bus shelter. It's not one of those identikit, easy-to-replace cards, either; it's a proper key. And it's on top of a bus shelter. It's like being a student all over again.

He tries fruitlessly for the umpteenth time to jump and blindly grab it, but the roof of the shelter is so high he can only just about get his palm over the edge, and he's running out of energy and patience. He could try to climb on the seats and haul himself up onto the roof, but that would require an ability to contort himself that he doesn't currently possess. So now he'll just stand looking up at the roof with his hands on his hips until he can think of something else.

"You going without even saying goodbye? That's not very nice, Matt."

Matt twists and looks over his shoulder at the familiar voice, eyebrows knitted in distraction-borne confusion. "You what?" When Cal nods at the bus stop with a smirk, Matt catches on and rolls his eyes. "You're not funny, you know."

Cal saunters up alongside him, hands in his pockets, and Matt nods up at the roof. "My hotel key's up there."

"Stupid place to put it."

"Ha fucking ha. S'pose it was your idea."

Cal affects his best offended look and starts to move away. "Oh, I'll just go back in and leave you to it then, shall I?"

"Oh, you were actually gonna help?" Matt retorts, eyebrows raised. "You do surprise me, Calvin."

"Do you want a fucking leg up or not?"

"Yeah, go on. _Please_ ," he adds swiftly with a sigh, because he can see it on Cal's face that he won't now do it without some form of begging. Cal flashes him a winning smile and crouches down beside him, meshing his fingers together and offering his open hands as a foothold. Somewhat predictably, once Matt is in position, Cal gives him a very vigorous lift and shove up onto the bus stop roof, so much so that his up-and-over momentum almost makes him crack his chin. After taking a moment to collect himself, he reaches out and grabs his precious key, stuffing it in his pocket.

But now he has to get back down.

Still on his hands and knees, Matt shuffles around on the spot and looks down at his helper. He feels higher up than he expected to...

"You got it?"

"Yeah."

"Well come on, then," Cal says, then adds mischievously, "D'you want me to try and catch you?"

Matt laughs. "Oh yeah, _try_." He regards Cal for a few moments, bathed as he is in the soft orangey-white glow of the streetlighting and yet still streaked with shadow. His smile fades a little. "I don't trust you."

Cal's wolfish grin blossoms and Matt hears him laugh softly in the back of his throat. "Get a fucking move on..."

Matt sighs resignedly, not for the first time and probably not for the last time regarding Cal. He shifts forward until his fingers are over the edge and looks down - he's _definitely_ higher up than he thought - and tries to decide whether to go forwards or backwards.

"Come on!," Cal demands impatiently.

" _Alright!_ "

For whatever reason, he decides going backwards is the safest choice (at least then he can't see Cal and whatever horrible thing he might be about to do), so he twists around and crouches, dangling one leg off the edge and swiftly realising that this was a stupid plan. He hears Cal snigger behind him. The next thing that happens is that he curses sharply, his other leg abruptly dropping to join the other and scraping almost the whole length of his shin in the process, his body weight transferring from the bus shelter roof to mid-air. Gravity and his own clumsiness finish the job and he falls many, many feet (okay, maybe he's exaggerating in panic), the concrete rushing up to meet him. His toes hit first, his legs buckle and he's about to topple forward, in all likelihood, right onto his face, but fingers suddenly dig into his ribs and his disastrous momentum is halted, then reversed until he thuds back into Cal's chest.

He's not exactly thankful, especially as his shin stings like hell and he can hear Cal laughing in his ear. "Fucking hell, what were you gonna do, wait for me to bounce?!"

"I never knew you were that clumsy! Or is it that you just make really bad decisions?" Cal retorts over his shoulder, his grin audible.

Cal's hands are still on him, gentler now. The moment Matt becomes aware of it, they shift, sliding slowly down his sides to his waist, fingers splaying over his stomach. Then Matt is aware of the warmth of Cal's breath against the back of his neck.

Matt swallows, his mouth gone dry. "Really bad decisions," he murmurs.

 

_End of Part One._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chunk in italics is a ~flashback~.

Cal laughs softly into his neck, and it cuts across Matt's skin, bringing with it a wave of gooseflesh. He tries desperately not to shiver in his arms.

"Cal--" he's not sure what the rest of his sentence was going to be, but it ends at the very first word when his breath hitches in reaction to Cal's mouth on his skin. One single, long kiss to the back of his neck that electrifies him and wipes his mind clean.

"Cal..." he murmurs, again without thought for the rest of the sentence. "Cal..." Maybe he's just saying it to feel that name on his tongue, to give himself a reality check while in the other man's grasp like thi--

"What?" Cal's voice terminates his train of thought.

"I-I..." While he struggles to collect himself, Cal's fingers slide down to his belt buckle and grip, turning him around. Being confronted by heat in those intense blue eyes helps his coherence even less, and he glances around uncomfortably. "I dunno, I..."

"You gonna tell me to stop?" Cal suggests, the teasing, lilting tone of his voice undulating down Matt's spine. His thumb tugs at the edge of Matt's belt buckle in a way that feels astoundingly predatory. "Is that what you're gonna do, Matt...?"

Matt feels like he's breathing very loudly. "No," he replies. He says the word as softly as he can, but it still sounds so loud... "No, I don't think I am."

Cal says nothing, but his smile twitches a fraction wider.

Using his grip on Matt's trousers as leverage, Cal eases him backwards under the shelter of the roof and into the shadows, guiding him until his back meets the wall. Then Matt is being kissed, rough and hungry and dominant, and his hand is cupping the back of Cal's neck because he's submitting to every second of it. The worries of being seen drop completely away in that moment, because Cal's pressed up against him and making this growled moan noise into his mouth and everything beyond it is meaningless.

He's dizzy from it all by the time he breaks for air, and Cal sets about smearing kisses down his neck instead, all scratchy stubble and hints of teeth, powerful body pinning him back, wicked tongue licking at his pulse point - it's everything he'd expected but nothing he'd prepared for. He pants against the side of Cal's head, and his arms pull that muscular form even tighter against him.

Then Matt realises something that makes his breath catch in his throat.

At some point in the last minute or so, Cal has undone Matt's belt and unbuttoned his trousers. The waistband is loose and slipping down his backside, the cool plastic of the bus shelter wall chilling his skin through his boxers. And he's very, very conscious of where they are all over again.

His fingers curl into Cal's shirt, reflexively tensing up. "Fuck, Cal, I--"

"If you're quiet, then nobody's gonna know, are they?" Cal interrupts, the words muffled against Matt's neck.

"...I-I'm not very quiet," Matt stammers, and feels himself blush down to his toes.

Cal pulls back to look Matt in the eye and grins devilishly wide. "Nah, nor me."

His hand is now palming Matt's crotch, which is making it very difficult to hold a conversation, and there's lust in his eyes that's making Matt's stomach do somersaults. The older man glances nervously to the sides once, twice; the shelter has short walls on either side that offer some privacy, and the street is virtually empty, but...

But...

"What if I did this instead?"

Matt's mouth barely has chance to begin asking _what_ before Cal has dropped down onto one knee and pulled Matt's swelling cock free of his underwear. Matt's _what_ contorts into a disbelieving "Oh my God..."

He says it again, more fervently, when Cal opens his mouth and runs his tongue along the underside of his shaft. He grips the sides of his open trousers tightly, fingers twisting into the fabric, toes curling in his shoes. _Oh my God._

Matt's eyes tear away from Cal and the attention of his tongue to stare straight ahead; the shelter faces a row of grey iron railings, a squat hedge beyond that and a well-lit park area beyond that. People pass through, crossing the park on tarmac paths; couples, noisy groups, barely ten yards from him, oblivious to his open trousers, oblivious to the famous biker crouched in front of him and the way that famous biker's wet lips are wrapped around his prick, oblivious but for innocent glances in his direction...

"Get up, _getupgetupgetup_..." Matt hisses, throat tight in sudden paranoia, gripping the shoulder of Cal's shirt and tugging until he's on his feet. "Make it less obvious, just wank me off or something, fucking hell..."

Cal wipes the shine from his smirking lips with the back of his hand, eyebrows raised. "Your foreplay's rubbish, Matt." He moves in for another passionate kiss, and the smell of his own musk on Cal's mouth and the friction of Cal's baggy jeans against his exposed cock all hit Matt at once and send his mind into a tailspin. He loosens his grip on his trousers and lets them fall to the ground, wrapping his arms around Cal's back instead, trying unsuccessfully to choke down his moan.

"You're so nervous, you need to relax, you know?" Cal punctuates his teasing words with a very gentle, very deliberate roll of his hips that makes Matt's stomach flip.

The words _Cal, you're such a prick_ form in Matt's mind, but they don't emerge from his mouth in quite the same way. "Cal, you're--fuck, make me come..."

The fresh spark in Cal's eyes keeps Matt's gaze from skittering away in embarrassment. "Say that one more time," the younger man murmurs.

Matt is very grateful that they're in the shadows, because he can feel he's bright red. And he's too far gone not to comply with Cal's request. "...make me come."

"Fucking hell," Cal eventually declares under his breath, the spark in his eyes flaring up like an igniting match. His hand slips between them and curls around Matt's cock without a moment's more teasing. Matt groans and pulls Cal's mouth to his before he can give them both away.

He doesn't have much chance to think about intimacy or privacy; physically, Cal is more slight than you'd think, but from the way he presses against him, to the way he controls the rhythm of each kiss, to the way he twists his wrist when he reaches the head with every steady stroke of Matt's cock, it feels like he's taking up all the space in Matt's world right now.

"That nice, is it, Matt?" Cal asks, a rasp cutting through the softness in his voice, that ever present faintly mocking tone unfurling and shivering along Matt's skin.

Matt bites his bottom lip to stifle a full-throated moan, thrusting into Cal's hand and dimly hoping he doesn't look too desperately wanton. "Well I'm definitely not gonna tell you to stop now," he pants, capturing the younger man's lips before he can spout some smartarse comeback.

Cal rips his mouth away from the urgent kiss and replaces it with his free hand, clamping tight to stifle Matt's dizzied moans as he shifts to the side, leaving Matt to fumble at thin air and eventually grasp Cal's arm just for something to hang onto, but not even the shock of sudden exposure can stop the inevitable; especially not when Cal is murmuring devastating filth into his ear in a low, dangerous purr. He curses loudly into Cal's palm when he comes, spilling out over fingers and pavement and, he belatedly hopes, not his own trousers.

Then, as he sags heavily back against the wall, the sound of two sets of fast approaching footsteps leak into his consciousness.

The sheer panic suddenly careering through Matt must be radiating from his eyes, made worse by the sight of a flash of it in Cal's; he didn't honestly expect Cal to have a foolproof plan for this eventuality, or even a foolhardy one, but...

The younger man moves back in front of him and presses close - the feel of those baggy jeans rubbing his oversensitive flesh is almost too much for him to handle, and he's unable to keep back a whimper - and the two of them duck their heads in a moment of wordless mutual understanding.

The footsteps pass by without slowing. One of them poorly stifles a giggle when they move out of vision, and the other shushes them.

Once they're long gone, Matt sinks down into a crouched position, heart hammering in his ears. "Oh fuck, oh fuck..."

Unsurprisingly, Cal seems less bothered by the whole thing, leaning against the shelter wall and giving a breathless, if slightly wobbly, chuckle. "Cheer up mate, at least you got a handjob."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Matt mutters, head hanging between his knees. His face feels like it might be on fire. "My trousers were on the floor..." then, correcting himself, "My trousers _are_ on the fucking floor!" Pressing back against the wall, he squirms his way upright and fumbles his trousers back up as he goes. Once he's hurriedly rendered himself fully clothed again, he covers his face with both hands in utter mortification. " _Oh, fuck..._ "

He looks to his side to find Cal licking his fingers and grinning at him, looking him up and down with hunger in his eyes; the sight robs him of speech and what little breath he has left. They regard one another in silence until Cal moves in to kiss him again. The taste of his own come strikes his tongue, and his knees weaken.

"317, Hotel Bellavista..." When Cal breaks away, he's looking down at the number on the plastic tag of the hotel key in his hand - _Matt's_ hotel key. When, exactly, did Cal pull it from his pocket?

"Uh, yeah," Matt says stupidly, as if Cal needed any confirmation of what was right in front of his eyes. Cal just nods, and slips the key back into Matt's trousers - the back pocket, taking the opportunity to give Matt's asscheek a nice, slow, suggestive stroke on the way out.

"Right."

Matt's skin tingles with the way Cal looks at him before he goes, and everything he leaves unsaid.

Once he's had enough time to stand there and pull himself together - and realise that his shin is still throbbing - Matt decides to call it a night. Needless to say, it's nothing to do with having sobered up, or that he's weary from the day's work.

He's back in his hotel room in less than half an hour and spends the rest of the night glancing at the door and feeling horribly, stomach-churningly nervous. What would Cal want? What would he expect? Would he swagger in and just take, like he'd been doing this whole time? Would he flash that grin and purr something filthy against his throat? Would he bend him over the bed and...

Matt tries to empty his mind of the thrilling possibilities, tries to silence the voice telling him that this is such a stupid idea. He perches on the end of his bed with the TV on for background noise, his heart thrumming in his chest, and waits.

Cal never shows up.

\-----------------

They don't speak of it the following day. They don't speak very much at all that weekend beyond Cal's television obligations, in fact; when Matt's lining him up for a post-race interview outside his garage, he's tempted to shoot him a _so what the fuck happened_ look, but Cal seems even less interested in holding his gaze than usual. Matt does his best to ignore the unpleasant burn in his stomach it all leaves him with, to little avail.

Things don't improve much beyond that. Two further race weekends pass, and Cal's behaviour remains the same. He's polite enough for the cameras, and he smiles that irrepressible smile of his, and Matt is almost sure he sees a hint of that breathtaking heat of before once or twice, but it's not the same. Matt doesn't even have the good fortune to bump into him in the paddock, or get a moment alone with him at pre-event PR stuff, which makes him wonder if Cal is actively avoiding him. He'd do something about it, but he finds he's not even brave enough to send Cal a confrontational text. Just when the hell did he regress to being fifteen again, wondering what he might have done wrong, vainly hoping the boy he fancies will look his way once more?

During the third race weekend, something shifts within Matt. When he arrives at the circuit finding he still cannot get his mind off that clandestine encounter in a grubby bus shelter (a _bus shelter_ , Christ, he really is fifteen again. Shame they hadn't been in Assen, there might have been some bike sheds nearby, for real authenticity...) and the silence that followed, he realises he can't let it continue like this. For his own sanity, if nothing else.

In fact, as he's making his way through the quiet paddock some time after practice, he's quite occupied with thinking of ways to confront Cal when the rider himself appears. He steadfastly refuses to smile as Cal approaches him, hands in his pockets.

"Alright."

"Alright," Matt responds more than a little disdainfully.

"Poor effort today," Cal declares, nodding at Matt's plain black shirt. "Nowhere near your best. You saving better for tomorrow?"

Matt could just be stroppy and unwilling to play along, and he's firm in the belief that he has every right to be, but he relents. For now. He shakes his head and glances down at himself. "Dunno what you're talking about, my clothes are great. It's called fashion, I don't think you'd know anything about it."

Cal grins his grin, clearly pleased with the response. He scuffs his way over, feet scraping the asphalt; the sound makes Matt's skin prickle. The proximity makes his heartbeat quicken. And when Cal's arm brushes his, skin on skin, his body angles towards the other man almost automatically. He'd be irritated with himself, but he's too busy focussing on Cal's mouth and hoping it'll come closer...

It _does_ come closer, and Matt's holding his breath, thrilled, but--

"Dress however you want, as long as I can get a nice look at this when you go."

The painfully hard grope Cal delivers to Matt's asscheek kills any reply he might have formed stone dead, leaving only a pathetic yelp in its wake. The younger man is already sauntering off before he has a chance to recover.

 _Then_ Matt remembers that he's supposed to be angry and sullen and resistant to Cal's ways. His bum throbs a little bit, and his heartbeat is only just settling back down. " _Fucking hell,_ " he snaps, to no-one but himself.

Or perhaps, just perhaps, he fully intended for Cal to overhear. The rider looks over his shoulder with a cackle, just a step or two from disappearing out of sight beside his motorhome. And all the frustration, the bewilderment and the hurt - hurt? Yeah, Matt _was_ fucking hurt by everything that followed and didn't follow, he realises - bubbles up to the surface.

"Why are you such a twat?"

Cal stops in his tracks and regards him carefully, the grin abruptly disappearing as he takes in Matt's visible anger. After a moment or two of consideration, he turns back and faces Matt fully again. For once - perhaps for the first time - there's no hint of amusement dancing in blue eyes; he might even look a little taken aback. "Thanks."

Caution thrown to the wind, Matt stalks up to him, voice quiet but taut.

"No, I'm serious. Why are _you_ such a twat? You are being a twat _specifically_ to me, and I don't understand why. I'm sick of not understanding and I'm sick of waiting for you to look at me that way you did. You either want me or you don't." he finally falters at that, the word _want_ echoing in his head and bringing colour to his cheeks. _Good job of sounding desperate, Matt. Jesus Christ._ He clears his throat and shifts on the spot. "So."

Cal definitely looks taken aback now, and Matt finds he's oddly satisfied by that, but Cal smothers it fairly quickly and shakes his head. "It's nothing, I dunno why you're making a big deal out of it. Let it go."

"Oh right, so wondering why you never showed up that night and why you haven't fucking talked to me, even as a mate, that's making a big deal out of it?"

"Never said anything about coming to see you that night."

Matt's eyes narrow in disbelief at Cal's brusque words and the angry burn in his stomach suddenly intensifies. "Right." He clenches his jaw and does his best to glare Cal into the ground. "Right, yeah. Signals. Misread them."

It could be Matt's dark expression or his contemptuous words, or it could be neither, but something sets Cal off. His expression changes completely and he almost visibly bristles. _Touch a nerve did I, honey badger?_ "Look, you asked, and I told you, you don't like it, that's _your_ fucking problem." He turns on his heel and gives Matt a sharp, dismissive wave. "Whatever, fuck off..."

"No, no, no, I'm not having that," Matt reaches out and grabs Cal's shoulder before he can open the door to his motorhome. "Don't just go off in a strop because you don't like what I'm saying--"

The look Cal shoots him over his shoulder almost, _almost_ makes Matt regret starting this. Blue eyes flare with anger, and for a split second Matt thinks he might be about to get punched in full view of anyone who might be walking past, but he doesn't even have time to steel himself before the flare dies out and the tension fades from Cal's form.

"I never did _say_ I was coming to see you, so don't tell me I fucking did," Cal warns sullenly.

"Fine." Matt doesn't feel the need to disguise the exasperated, anything-for-a-quiet-life tone in his voice. His hand slides from Cal's shoulder, and Cal sighs. Then he says something that Matt doesn't see coming at all.

"You don't get involved with presenters."

"...Bit late for that," Matt mutters eventually, once the shock subsides and he thinks _well, fuck me_ to himself a few times.

"Wasn't an issue, I thought," Cal continues with a fair measure of irritation in his voice. "Been around enough presenters and journos and commentators to think I was alright. Superbike, MotoGP, whatever. Not a fucking issue. Didn't expect _you_."

Cal sounds so petulant and accusatory that it's almost like he's a disruptive child in front of the headteacher. Matt snorts. "Thanks. Actually, is that even a compliment?"

"It still wasn't gonna be an issue," Cal continues as though Matt hadn't spoken, slowly pacing back and forth, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Y'know, I've got some fucking self control, I'm not a teenager. But after _you_ made a move on me in that bar when you were off your face - and I _knew_ you were off your face, so I shouldn't have even--"

"Uh, no I didn't," Matt interrupts, frown etched into his brow. Because...he didn't. Off his face he indeed was that night, but making a move on a MotoGP rider is not something you would forget.

Cal chuckles humourlessly. "...and obviously you remember fuck all. Why would you remember it, eh?" He points at Matt. " _And_ , by the way, you did more than just make a move on me."

"No I--" Matt stops short of another denial, doubt and confusion setting in. He feels colour flush his cheeks at what Cal might be implying. "Why would I forget that?"

"Right, when was the last time you heard that Kings of Leon one?," Cal demands, and searches for the name. "That...Use Somebody?"

"I-I dunno..."

Why in the hell would he know something like that? It's not like he keeps track, or that it's a particular favourite of his. He probably last heard it on his iPod while travelling or on a circuit PA or--

Or--

_Cal bumps into Matt in the corridor on the way back from the bathroom._

_"Noisy in there," Matt mutters by way of explanation, leaning heavily against the wall. "And,_ and _, I just wanted to tell you, where it's not noisy, you've been great this year. And last year, and just generally. A pleasure to work with."_

_"Thanks very much, Matt," Cal replies coolly, hand moving to undo his belt buckle and cocking his head back to the bathroom. "You wanna carry on in there...?"_

_Matt snorts and swats clumsily at Cal's shoulder. "You're lucky I put up with your grief every week."_

_"If you wanna ponce around in green chinos, you've gotta accept the consequences."_

_"There's nothin' wrong with 'em," Matt asserts somewhat indignantly. "See, this is what I mean, I put up with your grief and your shit jokes...and your grin with all them teeth like you think everything's a joke...and your eyes...looking at me like that..."_

_Matt trails off into nothing, biting his lip and watching Cal through heavy-lidded eyes._

_Mischievous interest runs through Cal's low voice. "Looking at you like what?"_

_"Like..." Matt trails off and gives a little sigh. He brings a hand up and, despite his booze-induced lack of coordination, brushes his thumb quite gently across Cal's bottom lip before he leans in and kisses the other man. It's messy and wet and open-mouthed, and he paws at Cal's stomach, fingertips curling into the shirt fabric. Cal returns the kiss quite eagerly, controls it more, tongue swiping, stubble scratching. Matt hums in indolent pleasure, a giggle bubbling out of him when Cal nips at his lips._

_"Got some muscles under there, eh?," he drawls, smoothing his palm over Cal's stomach and smiling wider when those muscles jump under his caress._

_Cal's grin is the perfect amalgamation of terribly amused and utterly wicked. "Yeah, and I bet you wanna give 'em a workout."_

_Blushing, Matt sputters a laugh and doesn't reply. His hand slides down Cal's stomach, just barely grazing his crotch as it falls to hang loosely by his side. He backs away, sliding along the wall as he goes, not taking his eyes off the younger man. "I'm going back in there now," he announces, pulling his thumb over his shoulder at the double doors leading to the bar. "But hold that thought, if you like."_

_As he gets closer to the doors, music begins to filter through from the other side. Once he recognises the song, he beams. "Oh, Kings of Leon! This is a_ proper _tune!"_

Matt's eyes are dinner plate wide. He's trying his best to verbalise the tumultuous emotions he's feeling - okay, mainly shock and intense embarrassment - but he's finding it rather difficult.

"...Right," he murmurs eventually, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, in a small voice, he adds, "Sorry."

Cal's eyes narrow fractionally; Matt almost doesn't catch the subtle change of expression as he looks away. "'Course you are, Matt."

"For the...being that drunk." Matt clarifies, partially, before Cal can disappear into his motorhome. _Not the rest,_ he thinks, hoping the other man can hear his implication, or maybe read his thoughts. Cal makes a noise that sounds like grudging acceptance, and Matt figures that's the best he's going to get. Cautiously, he continues. "You remembered the song that was playing...?"

"I told you, I like the memories," Cal says plainly. "Do you remember that?"

Matt feels his heartbeat quicken when Cal meets his gaze, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft. "I do."

A slightly rueful silence follows, one that Matt is keen to break while they're alone together. He clears his throat. "But you don't get involved with presenters. And I don't get involved with riders."

"Rider _s_?" Cal echoes with his eyebrows raised, placing heavy emphasis on the _s_ , gaze swinging back to look Matt up and down. "More than one?"

" _Maybe_ ," Matt retorts as convincingly as he can, more pleased than he probably has any right to be by Cal's reaction. "Think on that for a bit, eh?"

Cal regards him with suspicion, then looks away again, doing a good job of appearing indifferent. "None of my business who you sleep with."

There's something within Matt pulling at him, telling him to keep quiet. He doesn't. "Don't think I'd mind if it was, Cal."

It draws Cal's curious gaze back to him, but not a verbal response. Matt is about to walk away, thinking it's probably best to leave himself with that mental image of piqued interest sparking in Cal's eyes, to leave it at that at least for now. But, just to make a habit out of ignoring his better judgement, he decides against it.

Instead, he moves in close and kisses Cal with more tenderness than he ever has, more tenderness than he probably _should_ , knowing how Cal is. He cups Cal's jaw, feels sharp stubble prick his palm, and breaks the kiss before either of them can deepen it. He leaves without looking Cal in the eye again, because he's not sure he'd like what he might see.

 

_End of Part Two._


	3. Chapter 3

Of course Matt is only half dressed when a sharp knock sounds out at his hotel room door. In a unbuttoned shirt, boxers and socks and with mouth full of toothpaste, he sighs and spits into the sink. "Yeah, hang on!"

He'd like to have an uncomplicated night out with a mate who'll help take his mind off a certain rider and everything that follows with him, and he'd like to have a bit of peace to get ready for said night out. But of course not.

Hastily wiping his mouth on the nearest towel, he hurries to the door and, with only a cursory glance through the spyhole - fleeting enough to see the person still out there, but not who the person is - opens it.

It's Cal. Of course.

Matt-in-boxers keeps his half-naked body hidden behind the door and nods his head in greeting. "...Alright?"

Cal returns the nod and cocks his head, peering inquisitively around the door at Matt's bare legs. "You off out?"

"Yeah, actually. Meeting Gav for a few beers."

"Not for ages yet though."

"In an hour or so," Matt replies with a slight, wary frown. "How'd you figure that?"

A smirk flits across Cal's face. "You've not done your hair."

"Funny," Matt says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, self-consciously pushing wet curls of silvery hair away from his forehead.

"You've got come on your lips, by the way," Cal says breezily as he saunters in, waggling a finger close enough to Matt's face to make him lean back. Matt wipes his mouth in bewildered surprise, then sighs.

"It's _toothpaste_."

Cal's ignoring him, leaning into the bathroom and casting his eyes around, doing the same with the sliding door wardrobe. Initially Matt just accepts it as Cal being Cal, but then he remembers. _Rider_ s _?_

"Anyone in particular you're looking for?" The devil on his shoulder suggests telling Cal to check under the bed, because Dani would certainly be small enough to fit...

Cal continues to ignore him and keeps looking, throwing out the occasional _'Ola_ or _Ciao_. Matt watches him go, biting his bottom lip to partially stifle the smug grin. He seems to have caused quite a degree of suspicion in Cal's mind. _Jealous? You?_

"Thought you said it was none of your business who I sleep with...?"

"It _is_ none of my business," Cal responds immediately without looking in his direction. "Just wondering if there's any left for me."

Matt tuts. "You can do better than my sloppy seconds, Cal."

 _Now_ Cal looks his way, shooting him the same distrustful look as before. He abandons his search and approaches Matt, looking him over in that way he does that somehow makes Matt feel both self-conscious and turned on - perhaps both even moreso than usual, given that he's still stood there in nothing but his boxers and an open shirt. Matt shies away a little and holds up his hand, wiggling his fingers to draw attention to the chalky white smear across them. "See, toothpaste."

Cal leans in unnervingly close, close enough for Matt to feel the warmth coming off his skin, and sniffs. "Yeah," he murmurs. "You smell minty."

Matt is briefly tempted to say _want to see if I taste minty as well?_ , but it catches in his throat and he swallows it away. Averting his gaze, he coughs nervously and begins to button his shirt.

"Don't."

Hands stilling at the sound of Cal's voice, Matt looks up again, curious. Cal's standing in front of him now, sliding a hand beneath his open shirt and around his side, thumb stroking his skin; it's the unusual gentleness of his touch that pulls Matt's focus more than the heat in heart-stopping blue eyes. A smirk tugs at Cal's parted lips and he looks Matt over. "Unless you wanna get it dirty."

Matt's stomach swoops.

"This is you not getting involved with a presenter, is it?" he says quietly, once he's found his voice.

Cal's smirk broadens into a lopsided grin, and his hand slips lower, the tip of his little finger tracing the waistband of Matt's boxers. "Yeah."

_This is such a stupid idea._

There's the voice that bothered him before, when he was alone and sick with nervous excitement, alone and waiting. But, he wonders, is it more stupid to wait up all night for someone who never comes, or to push them away when they do show up? And is it stupidest of all to take what you want even though you've been advised not to...?

He's already dipping his head and meeting Cal's lips, so whether he can accurately measure the full extent of his stupidity or not is irrelevant.

Matt does take his shirt off, because he does not, in fact, want to get it dirty; he even breaks away from Cal's addictive mouth to hang it carefully over the back of a chair so it might stay crease-free, much to Cal's amusement. "Do you think I wanna fucking iron that again?"

Cal offers his own approach to tidiness, peeling off his t-shirt and dumping it onto the little table behind Matt, pushing the older man back against it for a ravenous kiss. They're fortunate that the table is flush with the wall, because Cal goes in with such force that the table otherwise would've skidded away and they'd have both ended up on the floor in a heap. Not that being on the floor and tangled in Cal would necessarily be a bad thing, but the bruises might be hard to explain.

Matt is pliant for him, knees bending so Cal might kiss him better, body responding as hands explore his torso. When the hands track lower, one rubbing his cock and balls through the thin cotton of his boxers, the other sliding around the back of his thigh and squeezing, Cal swallows his moan with a filthy chuckle.

"Ease up," Matt pants, defying every desire in him that begs for the opposite, _faster, fuck, faster, rub the slit, get on your knees, lick it like you did before--_ "I-- _oh fuck--_ I won't even make it to the bed otherwise..."

"Think about something else, then. You can do that, can't you?," Cal suggests oh so helpfully, not altering his speed one fraction. Matt just groans, fingers tightening in that shock of brown hair. Cal licks his earlobe and murmurs, "Want you rock hard when you fuck me."

 _When...I...?_ Matt has to think about Cal's words a few times before he fully understands them. His eyebrows lift, though Cal doesn't see. "Didn't expect you of all people to be a bottom," he admits. "Not for me, anyway."

Cal flashes his teeth at him, visibly relishing it all. "I like how you kiss, now I wanna know how you fuck. I wanna know how hard, how deep and how fast you like going. I wanna feel _this_ \--" He runs his fingers along the length of Matt's hardening cock-- "Inside me. Is that alright with you?"

Matt lets out a helpless moan, rolling his hips into the rough, persistent stimulation of Cal's hand, fingers digging into muscular shoulders. "Fucking hell, you ever thought about earning a bit of cash running a sex hotline? You'd be able to pay for that factory support yourself..."

Cal just snickers and drags his teeth over Matt's throat before he pulls away, undoing his baggy jeans and letting them fall to the floor. He gives himself a few tugs through his briefs as he saunters over to the bed, toeing off his shoes as he goes, placing a hand down and hitching himself backwards onto the mattress with a few gentle bounces. "If I like what you do, I'll come back for more."

Matt exhales, just letting himself absorb the sight before him, letting it settle and bed into his mind; Cal sprawled out for him, rubbing his cock and balls through his underwear, smirk on his lips and lazy heat in his eyes. He might just have to try that suggestion to think of something else, he realises as he approaches.

He reaches out and presses the back of his hand lightly against the inside of Cal's knee, easing his legs open that little bit wider. "If I want you back," he murmurs, tearing his eyes away from Cal's thick, powerful thighs and trying not to focus on how they might feel around his waist...

Cal offers him the most attractive smile Matt's ever seen on another man. Not like the wolfish grins of before; there's a softness to this one, aided by the way he tilts his head slightly to one side. "You'll want me back," Cal says simply, with all the confident ease the older man's come to expect. Matt bites his bottom lip, eyes exploring Cal's body once more - because he does nothing if not welcome it - and hums. The sound could be construed as agreement.

Seizing the initiative, with his usually dominant antagonist waiting for him to make the move, he crawls over Cal and spreads himself out, opening his legs good and wide to grind down into Cal's crotch. The delight he feels when Cal gives a hearty moan and grips his waist in response is something he'd like to capture and keep in a bottle. He kisses Cal's prickly jaw and purrs, "I'll have to make sure you like it then, won't I?"

Then Cal pulls his mouth against his own, and they're entangled in one another, arms and legs and kisses and moans, exploring and learning, hips rutting, breath quickening, slowly becoming swept up in urgency. Cal's hands slide down Matt's back, easing his boxers down an inch or three and stopping when he has both hands cupping and gently squeezing Matt's bare ass; Matt moans softly, appreciatively, mainly because it's a much, much more tender caress than last time...

His boxers are soon being kicked off and Cal's tearing a condom packet open with his teeth, which Matt finds to be a sight more attractive than it has any right being. Fingers press into Cal, slippery with lubricant brought by the man himself, scissoring and curling in tight heat until Cal's responding with full-throated moans and an arching back, until he's far beyond ready and Matt's just revelling in his unashamed, unconcealed pleasure. It fascinates him, turns him on, Cal laid out for him like this; not submissive but open, on his side with one muscular leg hitched up, stretching himself out for whatever Matt would do to him. A little part of Matt is surprised he isn't even making any smartarsed remarks.

As if reading his thoughts, Cal's eyes crack open and give him a sidelong look over his shoulder, blue clouded with lust. The look suggests underlying amusement. _Enjoying yourself, Matt?_ He feels Cal's chest rumble with a low, breathless chuckle that contorts into a groan when Matt curls his fingers in just the right way, his other hand pushing through Cal's chest hair and thumbing his nipple. Matt smears a kiss across his shoulder, his own hips bucking shallowly when his erection grazes the bedcover.

"Get on with it," Cal murmurs, voice rough and thick, and Matt can't help but laugh. Back to normal. And he's not in any condition to argue.

Shifting up until his cock head rubs against Cal's asscheek, lubricant cooling against hot skin, he steadies himself with one hand and wraps the other around his length, guiding himself in. It's a steady, inch-by-inch slide that has Cal letting out a long moan under his breath.

"Not gonna last long," Matt warns, muscles already tiring, heat already pooling low in his gut. He lets out a gasp when Cal clenches around him, making his hips buck sharply and bury himself within the younger man, who curses colourfully in response. Matt's fingernails bite into the skin of Cal's thigh as he tries to steady them both.

" _Such a prick_ ," he pants, sinking to rest his forehead against Cal's shoulder until the younger man twists beneath him, fixing him with a dim glare.

"Get on with it, then," Cal repeats, rough-edged impatience in his voice offset by the gentle hand that reaches up to cup the back of Matt's head, thumb stroking through the closely cropped hair. 

Fleetingly, Matt wonders how Cal would react to being fucked slowly, torturously slowly. He _did_ say he wanted to know how fast Matt liked going, so what if Matt liked going slowly? How impatient would he become if Matt took his time, rolled his hips, shallow and gentle, tiny increments of pleasure until every movement and every touch was too much. He might curse him. He might even beg.

Fortunately for Cal, Matt doesn't like going slowly. Not right now, anyway.

One hand settling flat on the bed to hold himself steady, the other hooking under Cal's knee to hold him open, Matt begins to rock into him. Cal's fingers tighten on the back of his neck and his hips shift, angling until Matt's thrusts are hitting him just right and he lets out a long, loud moan. He wasn't kidding, all those weeks back at the bus stop - he isn't quiet at all. 

"Yeah...yeah, yeah... _ohhh_..." Wanton noises spill from Cal's open mouth and twine with Matt's own, muffled only slightly when Matt bends and captures a messy kiss. He feels Cal's hand grip and squeeze his thigh as he ruts against him, whether in approval or silent request for more, faster or deeper, Matt doesn't know. But he sounds pornographic. He sounds _incredible_. When the noises pouring from him start to escalate, what little is left of Matt's self control disintegrates.

" _S-sorry--_ " he blurts out, taut and desperate, against Cal's mouth as he tumbles over the edge and his hard thrusts lose rhythm in a spiral of cries. Cal moves with him, a guttural, growled _fuck_ bursting from him, fingers digging hard enough into Matt's back to leave bruises, until the older man is spent.

With Matt's softening cock slipping out of him, Cal moves his leg to reach down and starts jerking himself off, grunting at the stimulation. When Matt sinks down to lie flush with his back, his arm snaking around Cal's waist, his hand is moved away; urgent and possessive, Matt wants the weight of Cal's cock in his hand, wants to pump the hot, hard flesh for himself while the heat of his own orgasm is still running through him. And Cal lets him.

The younger man comes with a strained groan as Matt fists his cock and kisses his neck, pressing himself back into Matt's chest until laboured breathing is all that's left to fill the air. Cal reaches back to thread his fingers through Matt's hair, and Matt nuzzles his ear in wordless response. It's a quiet moment of tenderness that Matt didn't realise he wanted. He would like more, but he suspects Cal is not the cuddling type; though it sets off a little ache in his chest to do so, he rolls away from Cal onto his back, and exhales.

For a while - after he's tied a knot in his condom and tossed it into the bin - he's just staring vacantly at the ceiling, absently trailing his fingers through his dried out hair. Out of the corner of his eye he watches the rise and fall of Cal's chest, watches him scratch his ribs. He's staring at the ceiling as well.

An almost gleeful eagerness runs through Cal's voice when he breaks the silence.

"I'm coming back for more."

Matt smiles at that, more pleased by it than he wishes to let on, and gives an arch reply. "If I want you back." He looks at Cal out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow. "I might be busy with Dani, or Jorge, or..."

A scowl flits across Cal's face before he looks back to the ceiling. "Fine. I'm not supposed to get involved with presenters anyway..."

Matt chuckles low in his throat. "Since when do you do as you're told?"

Cal shrugs, his shoulder bumping Matt's as he does so. "I could just get you sacked."

"Oh, nice!" Matt laughs. He sits up, humming contentedly to himself at the post-coital glow warming his body and steadfastly ignoring the pang he feels at having to leave. He looks back at Cal, still prone, one hand tucked behind his head. If he didn't have somewhere to be, he might let himself pay closer attention to the definition in Cal's arms. "What do you mean by presenter _s_ , anyway? More than one?"

Cal's gaze flicks away again, and he scratches his jaw. Vaguely Matt recalls pressing a kiss to that exact spot earlier. "Nah, no _s_. Just you."

Matt hears that little voice again, dim and distant. _This is such a stupid idea._ But more than that, bigger, louder, so much more than that, he feels his heart briefly race. "...Right."

As Matt reaches for his boxers and pulls them on, Cal props himself up on his elbows. "You not showering?"

"Not really got time," Matt says, standing up. The smell of sex is heavy in the air, and he wonders what level of deodorant might be considered 'suspicious'. "Could do with one, though."

Cal looks him up and down, the interest and intent clear in his eyes. "Me too."

Matt feels his skin tingle at that look, and the subsequent one that seems to suggest Cal already knows he's going to change his mind. He walks to the bedside table and picks up his phone. "I'll tell Gav I'm gonna be late..."

Cal grins wolfishly at him. He scoots to the side of the bed and stands up, rudely peering at Matt's phone screen before striding into the bathroom. "Cheers, Matt!" he says brightly, before slamming the door, causing Matt to look up sharply from his phone. Cal's voice echoes out. "I'll try to save some hot water for you!"

"...Cal?" After a moment's stunned pause, Matt drops his phone onto the bed and hurries over to the bathroom door, trying the handle. It's locked. He hears the sound of rushing water within and his stomach drops. _**Such** a prick..._ " _Cal!_ "

Suddenly the door clicks and swings open again, and Cal, dripping wet, leans an arm up against the doorframe, his hair plastered to his head. "By the way, I was right and everything about you wanting me, but I'm not gonna go on about it, you know."

Cal's smug words help to distract Matt from the fact that the bathroom floor already resembles a small lake. He stares at the younger man, eyebrows lifted high. "Fucking hell, look at you, stood there like you know everything, thinking you're all that. You're not." he looks Cal up and down pointedly, doing his best not to let his eyes linger in a certain area, and chuckles. "You're _really_ not." He begins to turn away, offering a parting shot. "And you're not funny, either."

Fingers wrap around his wrist and pull him into the steamy bathroom, and his boxers are soon wet and getting wetter, but he couldn't care less. A filthy laugh and filthier words ring in his ears as Cal kisses and bites gently at his lips, pulling him under the stream of water.

"No, but I'm a great fuck..."

 

_End._


End file.
